


Shiver, Cold Sunlight

by Anonymous



Series: A Particular Breed of Despicable [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Ephebophilia, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, FE3H Kinkmeme, Incest, M/M, Pre-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Coercion, Spit As Lube, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Underage Sex, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dimitri swallows hard. “You can’t possibly be serious, Uncle.”The man shoots him an amused smirk over his shoulder, still rubbing himself. “You should know better than anyone how serious I am.”“B-but… you pr-promised…” Dimitri manages to stutter out.“I lied.” It is said so simply. “Yet another thing you should know better than anyone.” Dimitri has known for some time the particular breed of despicable the man was, yet when he displays his true nature so shamelessly, it never fails to catch Dimitri off guard._____Sequel to 'The Spaces Where the Sun Can't Touch,' but can totally be read as a standalone as the first one isn't necessary to understanding this one.Fill for FE3H Kink Meme
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Rufus Blaiddyd
Series: A Particular Breed of Despicable [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858366
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39
Collections: Anonymous





	Shiver, Cold Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Rufus coerces Dimitri into having sex with him by threatening to go after Felix if he doesn’t. Cool with precanon or pre-timeskip.
> 
> +if there’s implications that this has happened before  
> ++in a public place  
> ____
> 
> I hadn't planned to write a follow-up to 'The Spaces Where the Sun Can't Touch' but when I saw the prompt above, how could I not?

Dimitri can still recall the fear in Felix’s eyes, the disgust… and it is that look that’s been weighing heavily on his heart, the look he’d given Dimitri once the fighting had stopped, backing slowly away from him like Dimitri would just a soon turn on his closest friend. “Get away from me, beast,” he had hissed when Dimitri reached out toward him, only faintly aware that his hands were still soaked red with the blood of the slain.

He’d hardly spoken a word to Dimitri since then, only when absolute necessity demanded it, and even then he would keep to as few words as possible, refusing to so much as utter Dimitri’s name. Boar, he called him instead, heedless of the scolding he inevitably received from his father. No matter how he tried to reach out to his friend, his words fell on deaf ears. Felix insisted the Dimitri he once so cared for had died with everyone else in Duscur, only his corpse had yet to notice. It was quite the macabre sentiment…

And quite hurtful.

But Felix still grieves the loss of his brother, and Dimitri can scarcely hold that against him when he is still grieving himself. So, when Duke Fraldarius insists Felix accompany him to Fhirdiad for a short, political visit, Dimitri resigns to giving his friend the space he craves. Perhaps, in time, things can be better, but he will not risk pushing Felix even further away by forcing his company on him when he clearly doesn’t desire it.

Felix spends most of his time training, resolved more than ever to hone his skill with the blade. He trains for hours on end in the courtyard, sweating in the late summer sun. Dimitri catches glimpses of him through windows as he wanders the halls of Castle Fhirdiad. His focus and dedication are admirable, and Dimitri can’t help but stop and watch, in awe of his friend’s form, quick and graceful like a deadly dance of steel.

He finds he is not the only one enraptured.

Warm sunlight filters through the grand window of one of the parlors, a spacious room on the ground floor bedecked with antique furnishings. A soft breeze flutters through the elegant blue drapes that are tied back with thick lengths of yellow-gold rope. Uncle Rufus lounges in one of the plush armchairs that faces the window, watching with interest the boy training in the courtyard, just a few scant yards away.

In the heat of the day, with the strain of his training, Felix has shed his shirt. His skin is almost iridescent in the sunlight under the sheen of sweat. Lithe though his frame is, he is all lean, whipcord muscle and hard lines. The plush baby fat that used to stubbornly cling to him is gone; he is no longer the delicate, emotional small child as Dimitri remembered him as, but a scowling fifteen year old.

Rufus does not seem to hear Dimitri approach, just watching Felix train in mute interest, though Dimitri makes no attempt to hide his presence. He comes to a stop behind his uncle’s chair, about to speak when he notices, and his blood runs cold.

The bulge in his uncle’s pants is unmistakable. More so as the man palms it lazily through the fabric, half-lidded eyes focused solely on the shirtless boy running through well-practiced sword forms. Dimitri feels his cheeks flush. Felix is not far away. If he so much as turns his head, glances through the large, open window, he would see quite clearly what the man is doing.

“It’s rude to stare, Dimitri,” his uncle scolds, making the boy start. So he’d noticed him after all, he simply wasn’t concerned. “Though, I think an exception may be made for our friend. He’s training so diligently, wouldn’t you agree? Working up quite the sweat.” The low, surly drawl of his uncle’s voice betrays his inappropriate thoughts, and it makes Dimitri’s stomach churn.

Dimitri swallows hard. “You can’t possibly be serious, Uncle.”

The man shoots him an amused smirk over his shoulder, still rubbing himself. “You should know better than anyone how serious I am.”

“B-but… you pr-promised…” Dimitri manages to stutter out.

“I lied.” It is said so simply. “Yet another thing you should know better than anyone.” Dimitri has known for some time the particular breed of despicable the man was, yet when he displays his true nature so shamelessly, it never fails to catch Dimitri off guard.

“Besides, how long ago was that, now?” he continues, flippant. “Two years? You can’t expect someone to keep a promise for so long while getting nothing in return.” There is a pointedness there, as if it is Dimitri’s fault he’s not willing to keep his word. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like some privacy. I believe he will be done soon, and I hope to get the chance to speak with him before dinner…”

“I will not allow that, Uncle,” he grinds out, resolute, fists clenched so tight he can feel his nails biting into his skin nearly hard enough to break skin.

The amused look the man regards him with, blond eyebrow arched, haughty and arrogant, makes Dimitri feel as though he’s a child again, talking back to an adult whose mind is already made. “And how do you propose to stop me, Dimitri?” he wonders.

Games of the sort were one of his uncle’s favorite pass-times. Tricks and riddles and ploys with foregone conclusions that Dimitri had learned to see through some time before, but often found himself haplessly walking into regardless… Dimitri hangs his head. “I will give you what you want if you will agree to leave Felix in peace,” he decides, voice thick. “Though, I won’t demand your word, as we both know it means nothing.”

“I’m wounded you think so little of me, Dimitri,” the man teases. “But how can I deny my dear nephew his whims?” As if sparing Felix the misfortune of being lured into the regent’s bed is little more than a _whim_.

The man begins unlacing his pants, and a chill runs down Dimitri’s spine. “Surely you can’t mean… not _here_.”

“What’s wrong with here?” the man asks, just the hint of a smirk telling Dimitri he knew _exactly_ what was wrong with here. There is window that looks out into the courtyard, for starters. Any of the guards and servant bustling about could glance in. _Felix_ could glance in. Not to mention the fact that a maid could walk into the unlocked parlor and happen across something they are certainly not supposed to see. “You can leave, if you’d like, though I’m afraid I am staying right here.”

There is no arguing with his tone. “May I at least shut the blinds?”

The man considers it – or pretends to. “No, I quite like the breeze.” Dimitri feels his cheeks heat once again. The man’s length is free, large and flushed and leaking, and he strokes it lazily. He gestures to the tea table that sits in front of the array of arm chairs. “On your knees,” he orders. “Lean over the table.”

Shaking slightly, flushed with the indignity of it, Dimitri does as he is bidden, dropping to his knees in front of the table and bending over it, propped up on his elbows. From this position, he is on full display of the window. He bows his head in shame. “Surely, you understand how sex works, Dimitri,” the man teases, reaching down to stroke a hand through his hair, and the boy is sure his cheeks flame even hotter. “I can’t fuck you through your trousers.”

Dimitri straightens up on his knees and works open the laces of his pants with trembling fingers. He shoves them down to his knees along with his smalls, leaving himself exposed. He prays silently to the Goddess that Felix remains diligent in his training, keeps his back to the window where he can’t see.

A pillow lands on the floor between his legs, and Rufus sinks down behind him, urging Dimitri with a gentle hand between his shoulders to bend over the table once more. A hand reaches around, thumb stroking his jaw lightly before pressing against his lips. Dimitri parts them, and three long, thick fingers slip inside his mouth, laying heavily on his tongue. Rufus hums his approval, thrusting the fingers shallowly. “Make sure you get them nice and wet, Dimitri,” he mutters, running the fingers of his other hand through the boy’s hair, almost tenderly. “This is all you will get.”

“Whaa-?” he manages around the fingers.

Rufus laughs. “Unless you brought oil along with you.” Ice runs through Dimitri’s veins. It is a problem he hadn’t considered, and he can feel his muscles tense at the thought of trying to take the man’s considerable length with saliva alone. A shudder crawls down his spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. I could never hurt my precious nephew, after all.” There is a cruel mockery of tenderness in his voice that rolls Dimitri’s stomach. Once upon a time, he had known no better than to take his gentle words to heart, to believe the sweet honey that so clearly concealed the bitter poison.

How naive he’d been, then.

The fingers withdraw from his mouth, slick and shiny with spit. His uncle rubs the plush swell of his rear with his other hand for a moment, small soothing circles before spreading his cheeks to further reveal his hole. The first digit presses in slowly, and Dimitri gasps.

“You may want to keep quiet, Dimitri,” Rufus muses softly, already beginning to pump his finger in a steady rhythm. “The window is open, after all. If you’re not careful, you may draw some unwanted attention.” Dimitri glances up, out through the window where Felix is still going through his fluid movements, unaware of what is happening behind him. He grits his teeth against the stretch and tacky drag of the saliva as his second finger sinks inside, crooking to tease the spot that makes his legs quake and fingers dig into the edge of the table.

His own length stirs, growing shamefully hard under his uncle’s touch.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by the man, and Dimitri feels a large hand wrap around him, stroking languidly. “You’ve gotten so big, Dima,” he coos, a nickname no one has called Dimitri since the Tragedy; the realization makes a lump form in his throat and he struggles to swallow it down. Rufus takes his time working Dimitri open, pumping the boy’s cock in time with the unhurried motion of his fingers, and every second that passed seems agonizingly long to Dimitri, terrified that Felix or one of the knights that passes by every so often will happen to look over and see them.

Dimitri is nearing the edge when the fingers slip out, the hand releasing his cock appearing in his vision, cupped below his chin. “Spit,” Rufus prompts. “As much as you are able.” He bows his head and does as he was asked, filling his palm with a small puddle of saliva before the hand withdraws. He closes his eyes, tries to ignore the slick sound of Rufus readying his cock in the moment before the head prods against his hole. Rufus unabashedly wipes his damp palm dry against Dimitri’s shirt before grabbing his hips to keep him still and steady. The boy hisses as he pushes in slowly, spreading Dimitri open wide around his cock. The burn of the stretch has him biting his tongue to keep quiet; he can feel his nails sinking into the wood of the table, fighting to keep control of his already tenuously maintained strength.

“It’s been too long since I’ve allowed myself to indulge,” his uncle sighs, fully seating himself inside Dimitri and falling still to allow him to adjust for a moment. “Though, it’s a shame I won’t get to know what Felix feels like under me.”

“Stop… talking,” Dimitri huffs through gritted teeth. “Please.”

A hand winds through his hair, yanking his head back. “I do not answer to you, Dimitri,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in with brutal force that makes Dimitri yelp before clamping down on his lip to keep his sounds in. That is the pace he sets, and it is all Dimitri can do to stop from crying out. “Look at him, Dima.”

Slowly, he pries his eyes open, letting them fall on Felix who is still hard at work, gleaming in the sunlight, sword a blur of silver around him. “I bet he would make the sweetest moans. I’ve always thought that, you know. Oh, then there's all that hair, perfect for pulling. He’s so pretty, just like his brother was… Though, in that regard, I suppose I already know how he would look stretched around me.” Dimitri’s heart skips painfully at the implication; it feels like a shard of ice pierced right through his chest, and Rufus notice the way it affects Dimitri because he laughs, letting go of his grip on Dimitri’s hair. “Oh, don’t act so surprised, Dima.”

“You… you are vile, Uncle.”

The hand wraps around his length again, the man not dignifying Dimitri’s words with a response. He continues fucking Dimitri in merciful silence, the movement of his hips growing erratic as he nears completion. Choking back a moan, Dimitri spends into his hand, and the wood under his fingers splinters with a dull crack.

Rufus follows only a moment later, mustering a few final thrusts deep inside him before warmth spreads in Dimitri’s belly. They are still for a moment, both of them catching their breath. The man pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleans his hand of the boy’s seed before he pulls out, leaving him feeling hollow and empty, hole clenching down around nothing, cooling spend dripping down his thighs.

Dimitri doesn’t move as his uncle stands to tuck his softening length back into his trousers, reties the laces. He studies Dimitri for a moment as if he’s something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “You’ve broken the table, you brute,” he chastises him, the same taunt he often offered when Dimitri's father accidentally broke something. “What a pity.” He turns to leave.

“You’ll leave Felix alone now, won’t you?” he dares to ask, not looking up.

He is silent long enough Dimitri almost thinks he’s walked out without answering. “As I said before, Dima, you can’t expect someone to keep a promise if they get nothing in return. Duke Fraldarius’ visit isn’t over for several more days, after all.” Dimitri had known better than to expect anything else. The man does leave him then, a silent understanding between them. Numbly, Dimitri pulls up his own pants, heedless of the mess.

He stands on shaking legs, hissing at the soreness. His knees ache from their time on the floor, his elbows from the hard wood of the table. Small splinters of wood dig into his fingertips, drawing pinpricks of blood. He is about to walk out, perhaps sink into a bath before dinner in an attempt to rid himself of the feeling of his uncle’s fingers on his skin, when he spares a final glance out the window.

Felix stabs into a training dummy with precision; if it was a real person, they would fall dead at his feet. His chest heaves with labored breath, his arm falling to his side. He stretches luxuriously, rolling his shoulders and neck. His sword is returned to the weapon rack, and he reaches for his discarded shirt and a waterskin given to him by a servant.

Just as he presses the waterskin to his lips, he glances to the side. His eyes catch on Dimitri through the window – Dimitri knows he sees him; that look of repugnance and loathing is reserved for him alone. They stare for a moment, relief coursing through Dimitri as the realization washes over him that Felix had not seen the shameful spectacle. ‘Boar,’ Felix mouths, lips turned down in a sneer, and he turns his back, stalking out of the courtyard and out of sight.

Safe, if nothing else.


End file.
